


A Fetching Succubus

by cinnamon_lyons



Category: Lucifer Box - Mark Gatiss, The Vesuvius Club
Genre: A Bit of Fluff, M/M, Vesuvius Club back story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 16:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3215303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamon_lyons/pseuds/cinnamon_lyons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief interlude, recalling a prior meeting between Lucifer Box and Charlie Jackpot at a masked orgy (mentioned in passing in 'The Vesuvius Club').</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fetching Succubus

I was not in the habit of pondering too closely over my past indiscretions. Save, of course, on the (very) rare occasion when an evening appeared likely to provide no new ones, and the lonely hours would require a more solitary form of entertainment. But the impudent Charlie Jackpot had intrigued me, despite my efforts to appear otherwise (it is not altogether seemly for a gentleman to betray too much interest in the lower classes). What were the chances, though, of me remembering one amongst so many liaisons? I’m a busy man and, pretty as young Mr Jackpot undoubtedly was, there have, of course, been no shortage of pretty boys.

But, now that my memory had received a sharp nudge from a very blue-eyed young renter, I found myself reliving that evening at the big yellow house in Islington. Which was not, I’m sure you can imagine, an entirely unpleasant experience. 

The night had begun as all good evenings do, with rather more than a thimbleful of absinthe, washed down with well over a bottleful of champagne in my beloved Pomegranate Rooms before a quick ride (the journey, I might add, was also fairly brief) in a hansom to Islington, where the door to the Paste residence was opened by a butler wearing an elaborate mask – and very little else.

He bowed low.

“Come and join the festivities, sir.” He said. I wondered if his sentence would have made better sense in a different order.

I smirked, inclining my head slightly at the fellow before slipping past him.

The room beyond was a delight to behold. The stairs curled like the interior of a particularly tricky marble conch shell out of the chessboard tiling of the entrance hall. An entrance hall which was filled with intoxicating smoke, the delicate sounds of merriment – and the near heavenly sight of numerous men and women in varying amounts of Halloween costume (none, of course, cut quite such a dashing figure as your very own Prince of Darkness), busying themselves in the basest and most vile sexual acts imaginable. Ah, dear Walter and Flora always did put on excellent evening’s entertainment!

Such is my own capacity for pleasure that I determined to sample a little in every room in the tall Victorian building – and each, it seemed, held its own delights. It was well into the early hours of the following morning when, passing along one of the third floor corridors, I witnessed a somewhat amusing event.

A young lad, an expression of exaggerated terror on what I could see of his face below a shoddy black mask, had been cornered by a large brunette, her over-sized bosoms spilling from a half-unlaced corset and threatening to suffocate the poor fellow. As I approached, the boy managed to extricate himself from the lady’s over-eager clutches, careering blindly into me as he made his escape. I took hold of his shoulders, grinning demonically down at him. Well, it was only appropriate to my costume.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” I asked, taking in the cheap coarseness of the (lack of) clothes he was wearing before glancing up at his heavily-breasted paramour, who had obviously finally realised that her attentions were unwanted and was retreating in search of some more welcoming partner. “Surely my hosts have paid you to be a little more… responsive?” The lad shrugged, gaining confidence now that his huge-mammaried acquaintance had disappeared.

“I was only employed to deal with a certain sort of punter, sir.” He said, grinning cheekily, blue eyes glinting at me through the slits in his mask. I rather got the impression that the boy was flirting with me, and I reached out a long, bony, but decidedly elegant finger to stroke his face.

“Does that mean it’s up to me to ensure that the dear Pastes have got their money’s worth?” I asked him. The lad licked his lips, the delicate point of his tongue protruding from his full mouth in an almost unbearably erotic gesture. My reaction is no doubt obvious. I shoved the boy against the wall and pressed my own mouth to his.

There’s no sense, I’ve always felt, in wasting too much time on one partner, particularly in a house filled with so much tantalisingly willing flesh. I allowed myself just one moment to run my fingers over a surprisingly perfect torso, and another to gaze at the boy’s mouth-wateringly pert buttocks, before my fingers penetrated him. I released my own rather large erection from the tight costume that enclosed it, pressing it between the twin globes of his buttocks. The boy gasped, flattening himself against the wall as I entered him, although his moans were hardly audible over the chorus of grunts and groans which emanated from the rooms around us, a glorious background to our own love-making.

I realise now, of course, that this tight little renter into whom I had pounded that night, grasping at his upper arms as I fucked him with abandon, was the delicious young Charles Jackpot. It stood to reason, of course, that he would remember every moment of this display of my rather excellent technique. I find people usually do remember a night with Lucifer with a certain fondness, and I could hardly blame the lad for throwing himself at me again. And, gazing at the ridiculously faultless form of my new servant slumbering beside me, I found myself rather glad that he had.


End file.
